


Sweet as a Curse

by Devilc



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Drunk Sex, Hate Sex, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after Alaric punched Damon on the night Team Badass was formed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet as a Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Pr0n Battle 12: The Dirty Dozen](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/40106.html), prompt words: bite, flare, grin, shot, whiskey
> 
> Legalese: The Vampire Diaries is copyright its collective owners. This is just a bit of what if in response to a challenge.

Alaric's not entirely surprised to find Damon Salvatore waiting for him at the entrance of a dark alley. Number one, he face punched Damon about an hour ago, and, number two, it _is_ Damon.

He means to snark something like, "Well, what'cha gonna do, kill me?" Except that hurt enough the first time, thank you very much, and it's entirely in Damon's nature to take him some place secluded and kill him another 30 - 40 times until the novelty wears off and Damon gets bored and wanders away.

Alaric means to ignore him, walk past, head home, take a few Motrin, and chug down a glass of water in the hopes of dialing down tomorrow morning's hangover a notch or three.

Damon, who's just as drunk as Alaric, gives him an insolent sneer; his eyes flare bright blue and bloodshot red, and that does it -- Alaric's got two fistfuls of Damon's leather jacket and he's driving several feet down the alley and to slam that arrogant motherfucker into a brick wall.

Damon smirks and snickers because it barely musses his hair. "Oooh, tough guy. I'm impressed. No wonder Isobel dumped --"

 _Shut up shut up shut up!_ The words sear through Alaric's mind like a hot wire. He's not a loser, a nothing. Isobel never gave him a chance.

(But beneath that Alaric knows the truth: he never had Isobel. Not really.)

He means to lash out with his fist, punch that arrogant look off Damon's face, punch him twice as hard as he did earlier.

Alaric's not sure who's more surprised when he kisses Damon. Hard. Biting at Damon's lip in his fury, jumping back as if scorched when that first salt-copper hint of blood reaches his taste buds.

Damon's eyes flicker, bemused. "I'm not turning you, you know."

"I'm not fucking asking _you_ for that," Alaric snarls a split second before he clenches two handfuls of Damon's hair and hauls him in for another hard, biting kiss. This time he can also taste as well as smell the whiskey on Damon's breath as it mingles with the whiskey on his own, and ... this is such a bad idea.

An incandescent gleam fills Damon's eyes when they break, and Alaric laughs because that's not going to work on him and Damon knows it.

Damon bites his own lip, pricking it with his fang. The blood looks almost black in the shadows. "You plan to finish what you've started?" he whispers, low and _knowing_.

"Fuck you!" Alaric snarls.

Damon grins red-black. "Okay." The light in his eyes shifts again. Amusement, lust, and something else. Something that Alaric wants to call respect, except that (a) this is Damon, and he's got none of that for anybody and (b) Alaric doesn't give a shit about _his_ respect.

Damon laughs when he sweeps Alaric's hands aside. He turns to face the wall and his hands go to his waist and move in a way that can only be unbuckling and unzipping. "Make it quick," he says, glancing over his shoulder. "You never know when the police are going to show -- not that I can't take care of _that_ , but I'd hate the interruption."

Alaric freezes for a moment. Part of his brain screams at him ... some sort of instructions, probably, but he can't hear it except as gibberish. He snaps out of it as his hands take hold of Damon's collar and he shuffle-marches the vampire to a stack of wooden pallets and shoves him face down on top of them.

The voices babbling away at the back of his mind speak loud and clear for just one moment: Damon's clearly incredibly turned on by all of this, and shouldn't he be disgusted by that?

No.

Because he's going to fuck that smirking grin right off of Damon Salvatore's face. He's going to fuck Damon so hard that he's going to walk funny for the next few days.

The voices of reason tell him that's impossible. Alaric shuts them up. He doesn't care about impossible. He's going to do it.

He unbuttons and unzips and reaches in and just the feel of his own hand on his cock causes such a flare of lust it hits him like a double shot of whiskey. Damon's eyes gleam in anticipation.

Alaric swirls his tongue through his mouth, working up some extra saliva. Some guys are longer, but he's thick, and that counts for a lot, too. There's no condom, there's no lube, and Alaric's never fucked a guy before. There's just spit and elbow-grease ... in a manner of speaking.

Damon moans as Alaric makes his graceless entrance.

God, it's hot and tight inside Damon, and Alaric screws his eyes shut and sucks in a deep breath and blows it out through his nose because it's been too long since had anything but his own hand.

He gives the first thrust. It's not that root-to-tip-fits-like-a-glove feel of a woman, but a much tighter ring of muscle, a much more focused sensation.

"C'mon, fuck me already," Damon hisses, and it's on.

He slams in to Damon, digging his fingers into those hipbones, hoping to leave bruises, drives in again and again and again, his rage, and pain, and Isobel, _oh god, Isobel_ , and the idea that Damon's probably going to get some splinters from the wood is just so much diesel for the engine. Beneath him, Damon groans and swears and asks for more and harder and his voice hitches several times as Alaric _nails_ him to that stack of pallets until they slide and fall over, clattering to the ground with him and Damon going along for the ride. Alaric barely misses a stoke as Damon ends up on his hands and knees on the filthy asphalt and the orgasm rises like a white-hot bubble and bursts.

When the static clears, Alaric slides out and shakes one last little dribble off before climbing to his feet and tucking himself back in.

Slowly, almost stiffly, Damon rolls over and there's come all up the front of his shirt, and his face has a glazed, almost sleepy look on it. Wordlessly he holds a hand up, and Alaric thinks about ignoring it, but reaches down and pulls Damon to his feet.

He likes Damon like this, all fuck drunk with his pants around his knees and come leaking out of his ass.

It feels like victory. _At last._

Without a word, Alaric turns and heads for home.

Damon's voice catches him at the the end of the alley. "This isn't over. You know that, right?"

Oh, Alaric knows that.

In fact, he's counting on it.


End file.
